


The Dynamics of Dependent Variables

by space_rogue



Category: Deadpool (Comics), Deadpool - All Media Types, Marvel, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: (let it be noted the author is not that sorry), Angst, Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, BAMF Wade Wilson, Banter, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Declarations Of Love, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Feelings Realization, Fluff and Angst, Hate to Love, Humor, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, I'm Sorry, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Peter Parker, So much angst, but in a deadpool kinda way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-27
Updated: 2019-07-06
Packaged: 2020-03-20 13:34:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18993655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/space_rogue/pseuds/space_rogue
Summary: dy·nam·ics /dīˈnamiks/Noun2. The forces or properties which stimulate growth, development, or change within a system or process.de·pend·ent var·i·a·bleNoun1. a variable (often denoted by y) whose value depends on that of another.





	1. Distance

dis·tance /ˈdistəns/

_Noun_ 1\. an amount of space between two things or people. _Verb_. 1. make (someone or something) far off or remote in position or nature.

 

* * *

 

Peter groaned. He looked into the alley below and tried to suppress an honest-to-God eyeroll, despite the fact he was 25 years old and honestly a little old to be rolling his eyes at criminals. He had _really_ been hoping for a quiet, easy night – he was supposed to be at the Bugle at six the next morning for some new assignment from J.J. – but the wannabe thieves in the alley below weren’t about to let that happen. Because why should anything in Peter’s life be easy, right?

 

Okay, he really needed to tone down the angst.

 

Rolling his neck to stretch it out after spending the better part of an hour stalking around rooftops, Peter sprang elegantly from the roof into the dark street below. Landing with an almost-silent _whumpf_ on the pavement, Peter leaned casually against the side of the building, waiting for the group of criminals to notice him.

 

“I hate when I forget my PIN too, you guys, but that doesn’t mean it’s okay to take it out on that poor ATM,” Peter said coolly when the criminals took too long to see him. The group whipped around all at once, guns drawn and masks obscuring their faces, clearly shocked to find Spider-Man standing nonchalantly behind them. “Seriously, if I took a welding torch to all _my_ problems they’d lock me up for sure.”

 

Thug #4 promptly dropped the welding torch he had been using to pop open the ATM. It fell with a reverberating _clang_ on the pavement and continued to spout flames for a few seconds before it ran out of fuel. Thugs 1 through 3 pointed their guns at Peter.

 

“Come to think of it, they’ll probably wanna lock you guys up too. But hey, I’m not the judge.” Peter walked slowly forward, ignoring the guns for the moment but hovering his fingers close to his webshooters just in case. “Web ‘em and forget ‘em, that’s what I always say.”

 

“Spider-Man! You little –"

 

Thug #2 fired a shot without warning, which echoed through the confined space of the alley and cut off his companion’s threat mid-sentence. Peter dodged the bullet almost lazily and pulled the weapon out of the guy’s hand with a well-placed web in almost the same instant.

 

“Trying to steal people’s hard-earned money is one thing,” Peter said with a few small _tsks_ for added effect. “but shooting at the guy trying to talk you out of it? That’s a bit—”

 

Suddenly more gunshots rang through the air, but Peter’s spidey-senses didn’t alarm him to dodge anything. Were these guys seriously _that_ bad at aiming? Peter opened his mouth to make a joke about their Stormtrooper-like abilities but stopped before a single syllable left his tongue; all the criminals were flat on their backs, not moving a muscle.

 

“What the--?!”

 

“Hya, baby boy!” An alarmingly familiar voice rang through the alley from somewhere above Peter’s head. He glared around for the offending noise and sure enough found what he simultaneously expected and dreaded seeing – the red and black spandex, pair of katana handles, and smoking barrel of a gun that could only mean –

 

“DEADPOOL!”

 

“At your service, sugar plum!” Deadpool called down from the window, apparently oblivious to Peter’s angry tone. The mercenary started swinging down the fire escape while Peter ran to the motionless criminals in the middle of the alley.

 

“Don’t be dead, don’t be dead, please don’t be dead—” Peter muttered to no one in particular as he approached the thugs. He knelt beside the closest one and checked for a pulse, trying desperately to ignore the puddle of blood that was slowly forming under the guy’s shoulders. Peter didn’t find a pulse. He moved quickly to the next guy. Peter’s heart fluttered in his chest, as if it was trying to make up for the heartbeats of the four men lying dead at his feet. _And it was Peter’s fault._

 

“Fuck!”

 

If Peter had just webbed them up to begin with, if he hadn’t waited around teasing them with stupid pointless jokes, if he had just been _professional_ for once and stopped them mid-crime without waiting for them to fire at him – if he had done any of that, these men might still be alive.

 

“God _dammit_!” Peter swore again, trying unsuccessfully to find a pulse on the last guy.

 

“Language, Spidey!” Deadpool practically sang as he dropped down heavily beside Peter. Deadpool had just enough time to click the safety on his gun and return it to his holster before Peter threw the mercenary against the closest wall with enough force to break bones.

 

“Don’t—” Peter started, but words failed him. He clenched his fists in anger, watching without satisfaction as Deadpool crumpled from the man-sized indent his body had left in the brick wall.

 

“Whatsamatter, Webs?” Deadpool leapt to his feet as though nothing had happened and cocked his head to the side like a confused puppy. A psychopathic, murderous, confused puppy. “Those guys were trying to kill you, so I killed ‘em first.”

 

“I had the situation under control, you idiot.” Peter snarled, throwing Deadpool away from him again as the mercenary sauntered into arm’s reach. Deadpool hit the wall hard enough to dislodge a few bricks from the floor above. Again, he showed no sign of pain as he fell face-first on the concrete and jumped back to his feet. “I didn’t need you coming in and – and committing _mass murder_ because you thought I couldn’t defend myself!”

 

“Whoa now, that definitely was not mass murder,” Deadpool said, a hint of anger entering his voice for the first time that night. He wisely stayed out of Peter’s reach as he approached this time, so Peter stood facing the mercenary with his hands on his hips. “Take it from a guy who has committed mass murder, that was _not it_.”

 

“That’s not the point,” Peter spat through gritted teeth. “I don’t kill people. People don’t die on my watch. End of discussion. Except now, thanks to you, there are four bodies in this alley. That’s four families who are gonna be hurting, and four reasons why I failed tonight.”

 

Deadpool had the audacity to look hurt, and Peter guessed the pain had nothing to do with being thrown against the wall. “But that’s not on you, I’m the one who killed ‘em, Webs.”

 

“That’s not – ugghh. You don’t get it.” Peter pressed a palm against his forehead in frustration. “Whatever, it’s not worth my time. Just – stay away from me, Deadpool. I know you’ve got this weird obsession with me but I seriously do not need your help. Honestly I should probably web you up and bring you to the nearest police sta—"

 

Suddenly, Deadpool was right in Peter’s space, boxing him against the wall with a hand at Peter’s throat and a dagger at Peter’s rib cage. Deadpool leaned close to Peter’s face, so close that their noses were nearly touching. Peter froze, even though every one of his instincts was screaming at him to use his super strength and web the hell out of there, he remained pinned to the wall.

 

“No.” Deadpool growled simply. He didn’t increase the pressure on Peter’s throat or ribs, but Peter could sense the tension in mercenary’s every muscle. “I don’t play nice with cops. You don’t want more people getting killed? You let me go. Go ahead and tell the police I killed those people, I don’t care. But you’re not turning me in unless you want a whole buttload more families to be sad tomorrow. Got it?”

 

“Get off me.” Peter choked, finally forcing his body to unfreeze and shove the mercenary off him. Deadpool staggered back and hit the wall for the third time, evidently surprised at Peter’s sudden burst of strength. Peter desperately tried to control his panic, his heart pounding in his ears and his hands shaking slightly where he clenched them against his thighs. If he was about to fight Deadpool, Peter didn’t want the mercenary to know just how terrified Peter was. Deadpool was just as likely to slice Peter’s head off as he was to compliment Peter’s ass, and there was no telling which option Deadpool would choose at any given moment. To Peter’s utter shock, Deadpool did neither of those things.

 

Instead, Deadpool started laughing. Hysterically. Like he had just witnessed the funniest comedic act of all time. The mercenary leaned against the wall and dramatically slapped his thigh while howling with glee.

 

“Uhh—” Peter began, bewildered.

 

“Baby boy you are _feisty_!” Deadpool shrieked. “I love it! Oh man, wait til I tell Al that Spider-Man – THE Amazing Spider-Man – actually shoved my ass against a wall in an abandoned alley _three_ times tonight! She is gonna _freak_.”

 

“Um—” Peter started yet again, but yet again was too surprised to form a complete sentence.

 

“Whew, okay,” Deadpool panted, inexplicably wiping fake tears of laughter from the eye sockets of his mask. “That was fun. Good times, Webs. I gotta go now, though – you know how it is, places to teleport, people to kill, ‘Endgame’ spoilers to tell the kids on the naughty list. Catch you on the flippity-flip!”

 

Without another word, Deadpool seamlessly disappeared into the shadowy edges of the alley. Peter gaped into the sudden silence, unsure of what exactly had just happened.

 

“I told you to stay the hell away from me, Deadpool!” Peter shouted into the empty air, almost certain there was no way Deadpool had heard him. Peter sighed and looked back at the pile of bodies Wade had left behind. With a groan of disappointment, Peter dialed 911.

 

No way he was getting to bed before 2am tonight. Stupid freakin’ Deadpool.

 


	2. Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> time /tīm/
> 
> Noun 1. the indefinite continued progress of existence and events in the past, present, and future regarded as a whole.

 

 Every time Peter got his ass kicked, he was incredibly hungry afterwards.

 

And no, not just in the usual “ahh my body is healing and needs nutrients and energy to do all that extra work” kind of way. Peter was a science geek, obviously he knew that was typical. But it wasn’t even in the “I’m Spider-Man and my DNA is all screwed up now so my metabolism is like crazy good” kind of way, either. No, Peter was hungry every time he got his ass kicked and he was pretty sure it had everything to do with the fact that food just made him feel happy. And in times like these, he really needed to feel happy for a minute or two.

 

(Yeah, he knew eating away your feelings was an unhealthy coping skill. But hey, he had the metabolism for it, right?)

 

Peter squeezed his eyes shut tightly against the world as he flopped on his back against the cool rooftop below him. He sighed, attempting to clear his mind so he could start cataloguing all his injuries and attempt to calculate how long he’d have to lie on the roof before he could safely swing home.

 

His latest encounter with Rhino had left him in rough shape. Broken ribs.. two, maybe three of them, no internal bleeding… a nasty puncture on his upper right thigh… a similar one on his right shoulder… probably a concussion… possibly a sprained ankle. Those were the biggest ones. Realistically he could go home when his shoulder and ribs were mostly healed, but that could take hours. If he was lucky, it wouldn’t take more than three.

 

Peter groaned. It was going to be a long night.

 

But there was nothing he could do about it now. He cursed himself for ending up on the roof of an apartment building and not a pizza place. He was _starving_ , and at this rate he was going to stay starving for at least a few more hours. As if to emphasize this point as an additional “fuck you” to Peter Parker, his stomach grumbled into the empty city air.

 

“Shut up, I know.” Peter grumbled back. He draped an arm over his eyes and resigned himself to get a little sleep. No sense in being overtired _and_ recovering from his injuries when he showed up at work tomorrow.

 

“What do ya know, Webs?”

 

_Wow, that was fast,_ Peter thought to himself. He typically didn’t drift off to sleep that quickly, especially lying on a cold concrete rooftop with his entire body protesting in pain. Even better, he could smell food in his dream. Something cheesy and meaty and spicy. His stomach rumbled again, but he couldn’t tell if it was in the dream or in real life.

 

Then his brain processed what he had heard. Peter’s eyes shot open in surprise and alarm. “Deadpool?!”

 

“The one and only.” replied that unmistakably taunting voice.

 

Peter groaned in pain (not the physical kind) and forced his eyes shut again. “Nope. No. Not happening. Not now. I’m not in the mood.”

 

“C’mon, Spidey. That’s no way to treat your ol’ pal Wade!”

 

“We are _not_ pals. Didn’t I tell you to stay away from me the last time I saw you?”

 

“Pssh. That was four months ago. I’ve been in Bulgaria for most of that time anyway, so we’ve got a clean slate now. Besides, you look like you could use a hand.”

 

Peter popped one eye open to glare at Deadpool. The mercenary was squatting ten feet away, apparently to keep a respectful distance. Even through the red and black mask Peter could tell Deadpool was grinning like a maniac. Typical.

 

“I don’t need a hand. And if I did, I wouldn’t ask for it from you.”

 

“Ouch, Webs. That stung a little.”

 

“Good. Killed anyone lately?”

 

“No.” Deadpool’s tone was suddenly serious. “Well, one guy. He killed me first, though.”

 

Peter forced down a laugh that had tried to jump out of his throat for some reason. There wasn’t anything funny about Deadpool killing people. “Hmpf,” he snorted.

 

“So. You say you don’t need any help,” Deadpool continued, as though he hadn’t just admitted to murder and Peter hadn’t commented on it. “but here you are, lying on a rooftop half-dead—”

 

“—don’t be dramatic—”

 

“—with blood all over your costume, looking like you wanna fall asleep (which, by the way, is the exact _opposite_ of what you should do when you have a concussion, kiddo), and I do believe mine ears did detect the sounds of _tummy rumbles_ but a few moments ago. And here I am, all trained in the medical arts and bringing food. So you tell me, baby boy, what makes sense here?” Deadpool finished. Peter could just _hear_ the smirk on his face.

 

“You brought food?!”

 

Deadpool shook the greasy paper bag he was holding like someone trying to get a dog’s attention. “Best tacos in town, sugar plum. I saw Rhino being an asshole uptown and figured you might need a pick-me-up. I didn’t know what kind you liked, so I just got every kind they have. All of them are good, obviously, but I’m personally pretty sure they put actual crack in the adobada ones because they are _addictive_. Also thought you might like some horchata but I’m a monster and drank it all on the way here, so sorry about that. Promise I’ll make it up to you another time if you want, though.” Deadpool babbled. Peter didn’t care, he was attempting to sit up and walk to that paper bag before Deadpool even finished saying the word “tacos.”

 

Unfortunately for Peter, it was harder than he expected to stand up with his injuries. Trying to move his torso sucked because of the broken ribs, and even when he managed to move in helpful ways he still faced problems getting his shoulder, leg, and ankle to cooperate. And unfortunately (or maybe not?), Deadpool noticed Peter struggling.

 

“Want some help, Webs?”

 

“Don’t touch me.”

  
“Wasn’t planning on it.” Deadpool growled. He sounded suddenly annoyed, but carefully made his way over to Peter anyway, like he was approaching a venomous snake. Deadpool handed the bag to Peter without another word and backed away slowly. Peter took the bag but was still having a difficult time sitting up. With a long-suffering sigh, Peter flopped onto his back again with the bag perched tantalizingly on his chest.

 

“Okay,” Peter muttered begrudgingly. “can you help me sit up? Please?”

 

For a brief moment, Deadpool looked like Christmas had come early. But then he carefully kept his emotions in check and nodded slowly to Peter. “Sure.”

 

Deadpool slowly approached Peter from the side, but seemed unsure about what to do next. To be fair, Peter wasn’t sure either. So he extended a hand for Deadpool to grab and waited for the mercenary to pull him up to a seated position. Peter gritted his teeth and waited for the inevitable yank of motion.

 

To Peter’s surprise, Deadpool didn’t pull hard at all. In fact, Deadpool didn’t even pull. He grasped Peter’s hand firmly, a steadying grip to help Peter maintain his balance. Then Deadpool placed his other hand gently (almost tenderly?) in the middle of Peter’s back and guided Peter to a seated position. Peter’s ribs twinged a little with pain, but it certainly wasn’t as bad as he had expected it to be.

 

“Uh, thanks.” Peter said lamely.

 

“All good.” Deadpool said, just as lamely.

 

If Peter hadn’t been so hungry, he might have spent a little more time dwelling on how gentle Deadpool could be when he wanted to be. Especially given their last encounter, when Peter had fully expected Deadpool to cut Peter’s head off. But as it was, Peter was way too hungry to care. Without wasting another moment, he ripped open the paper bag and started shoving tacos in his face.

 

“These ‘r am-uh-zing!” Peter said through a mouthful of meat and cheese and tortilla.

 

Deadpool laughed, but it wasn’t a cruel, mocking sound. It was… light. Infectious. Peter smiled around his taco.

 

“Glad you like them,” Deadpool said. Then he launched into a diatribe about all the best taco places on the East Coast (there weren’t many). Peter was happy to zone in and out, only half-paying attention to what Deadpool was saying at any given time. Occasionally Deadpool would pause and make sure Peter was still awake (“I can’t tell with your mask on, Spidey. Can’t have you falling asleep with a concussion, y’know!”), but otherwise Deadpool just kept on talking. And talking. And talking. In any other circumstance Peter would have been annoyed, in fact he would have left a long time ago. But as it was, just sitting on the rooftop waiting for his injuries to heal and eating tacos, passing the time by listening to Deadpool speak, Peter had to admit it was kind of… nice.

 

“How ya feeling?” Deadpool asked some time later (Peter had no idea how long they had sat on that rooftop already).

 

“Pretty good.” Peter replied, rotating his shoulder experimentally. “I can probably swing home now.”

 

“Oh,” said Deadpool flatly. “Okay.”

 

“And, um,” Peter had no idea what to say now. This was officially the most awkward social interaction of all time. “thanks. Seriously. It was… really nice of you to bring me food.”

 

Deadpool grinned behind his mask. “Any time.”

 

“Don’t make a habit of it. I’m still mad at you for killing those guys, you know.”

 

“I know.”

 

“Good. But if… you know, you stop killing people… for good, not just for a few months, maybe… uh maybe you can help me out sometimes. Like, with bad guys.” Peter said. Never mind, _this_ was the worst social interaction of all time.

 

Deadpool leapt to his feet like a drunk ballerina. “Really!?” he squeaked, clutching the sides of his face dramatically.

 

“Like I said, no killing anyone. Ever. And don’t be annoying. Or show up randomly without talking to me about it first. And stop calling me sugar plum.”

 

“Pretty long list of demands, there, Webs,” Deadpool said seriously. “but I think I can manage it. Wade Wilson, official sidekick to the infamously adorable Spider-Man, reporting for duty!” Deadpool finished his declaration with an exaggerated salute.

 

“No.” Peter said, fighting back more laughter. “You’re definitely not my sidekick. And you can just call me Peter, if you want.” Peter felt his face going inexplicably red.

 

“Peter,” Deadpool said Peter’s name like it belonged in his mouth, perfectly synced with his voice. “That’s a good name. Petey-Pie. Pete-skavitch. Pete-a-lay-hee-hoo. Pet—”

 

“Just Peter is good.” Peter interrupted, somewhat annoyed already. “I’ll, uh, be in touch. If I need some help. You know, if you stop killing and all that.”

 

“You got it, Pete.”

 

Peter was going to regret this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok so this tropey trash fic is finally starting to move in the direction of "these idiots might start to like each other" which is FUN - thanks for reading, leave a comment if you can because I'm motivated by that, and I can't wait for y'all to read the next chapter in a week ♥


	3. Relativity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> rel·a·tiv·i·ty /ˌreləˈtivədē/  
> Noun. 1. the absence of standards of absolute and universal application. 2. PHYSICS. The dependence of various physical phenomena on relative motion of the observer and the observed objects, especially regarding the nature and behavior of light, space, time, and gravity.

“Cap, look out!”

 

Peter swung into a neat flip that ended with a kick to the nearest Doombot’s face. The metal crunched satisfyingly under Peter’s foot and the Doombot crumpled below him, just a few feet short of Captain America’s back. Peter turned on his heel to punch the Doombot that had popped up to replace the one Peter had just disabled.

 

“Tony, they’re everywhere – I don’t know how long we can hold them off!” Steve shouted into the comms while swinging his shield violently through the torsos of three other Doombots. “We need backup!”

 

“I’m working on it, keep your spangly shorts on!” Tony yelled into his helmet.

 

Peter leaped onto the roof of a burned-out car and used a streetlight to swing to the next demolished block. He used the momentum to dive-bomb a group of Doombots trying to take down Natasha.

 

“Thanks, kid.” she panted, taking a moment to reload her gun. Peter gave her a thumbs up but didn’t have time to respond verbally before swinging away to take on the next group of bots.

 

“Wilson, any news on Banner?” Tony asked curtly. Peter spared a glance skyward and noticed three Iron Man suits shooting at Doombots from above. One exploded nearby, close enough for Peter to feel the heat through his suit.

 

“Negative,” Sam replied. Tony swore.

 

“Langua—”

 

“Shut up, Steve!”

 

Peter webbed a Doombot to a fire hydrant and used the pieces of another bot to swing through the next wave of them. They had been fighting the Doombots for over an hour now, and he was starting to get a little tired. The left side of his head was warm and a little numb, which probably wasn’t good, and he was breathing just as heavily as most of the other Avengers. Peter hoped someone had a plan to find Dr. Doom soon, because fighting the bots couldn’t last forever. Not without some serious extra firepower.

 

“Uh, Mr. Stark—” Peter said, struggling to catch enough breath to talk and fight at the same time. A Doombot behind him managed to grab his leg, forcing Peter to pause and punch it in the head before continuing. “Oof. Didn’t you mention there’s a wizard that lives in New York?”

 

“Fury mentioned it once, I wasn’t really paying attention,” Tony replied lightly. The sound of his nanotech rearranging around the microphone played a weird, spindly feedback through the comms. “Besides, if he was able to help I’m pretty sure he’d be here by now. We need the green guy. And once Vision finally starts returning my—” Tony stopped talking for a moment, presumably to fight off some bots. But then he didn’t continue.

 

Peter grunted as five Doombots grabbed him on all sides. Two of them shot electricity out of their gauntlets and hit Peter in the chest. Peter yelled in pain, struggling to find a structure he could swing onto to get away. Seeing nothing, he resigned himself to fighting off all the bots at once. Peter flipped one of them over his head with its own metal arm and used it to bash another bot. Unfortunately, another Doombot was able to shoot him again, and Peter fell to the ground with another yell.

 

“Could use some help here, guys!” Peter called over the comms. A Doombot jumped on him and he wrestled with it on the ground for a minute, hoping the others would be fought off by another Avenger soon.

 

“Be there in a minute, Webs,” someone yelled into the mic. Peter couldn’t tell who it was – possibly Clint – but it didn’t help him feel any better as three more Doombots piled onto where he was fighting the fourth one on the ground.

 

“Might not have a minute!” Peter gasped, struggling to grapple a Doombot’s fingers away from his throat.

 

A wave of fear hit Peter as he realized he might actually be unable to wait a minute. Using all the super strength he had left, he pulled the head off the throat-grabbing bot and struggled to his feet to fight off the other three.

 

Miraculously, the other three weren’t there. In fact, they were lying on the pavement in a dismembered heap of twisted metal and fabric. Peter paused to catch his breath, leaning forward with his hands on his knees for support. “Thanks to whoever—”

 

“Any time, Petey-Pie!”

 

Peter froze. “Petey-Pie”? None of the Avengers ever called him Petey-Pie. The only one who did was—

 

Deadpool.

 

Peter gaped for a split second as he stood up, watching the mercenary sprint toward him, Deadpool’s katanas glinting dully as Tony blew up a Doombot overhead. The blades flashed almost too quickly for Peter to see as they hacked and slashed easily through the limbs and torsos of the nearest Doombots. Deadpool’s face was alight with manic glee, and Peter was unsurprised to hear that Deadpool was actually _giggling_ as he demolished the robots.

 

“What are you doing here, Deadpool?!” Peter shouted, somewhat alarmed that the mercenary had showed up so unexpectedly.

 

“What does it look like I’m doin’?” Deadpool shouted back. “I’m making these bots into sashimis!”

 

“What?!”

 

“I’m helping!”

 

Peter sighed. He couldn’t deny that they needed the help, and he didn’t have to worry about Deadpool killing anyone when they were fighting robots... Peter paused his train of thought to dismember one of said robots as it tried to sneak up on him, then turned back to Deadpool.

 

“Yeah, okay, I guess you can—” Peter stopped as he noticed that Deadpool was walking calmly toward him through the debris. Which allowed Peter to get a full view of Deadpool for the first time that day. “Um. Are you— what are you _wearing_?”

 

Deadpool looked down at himself and grinned through his mask. “Oh, this old thing?” He gestured at the rest of his body, allowing Peter to take an extra moment to process what he was seeing.

 

Deadpool was wearing his mask and katanas, but otherwise he was totally unrecognizable as the Merc with a Mouth. Instead of his usual red and black spandex, Deadpool was wearing the most ridiculous assortment of clothes Peter had ever seen, especially on a guy like Wade Wilson. He sported an extremely tight crop top that clung to every ridge of muscle and scar on Deadpool’s mutilated torso. It was so faded with age that it was nearly transparent, but still featured an image of Bea Arthur’s smiling face splashed across the middle. Below Deadpool’s exposed midriff Peter noted that the mercenary was wearing a pair of neon green booty shorts that looked like someone had tried (and failed, horribly) to bedazzle them and then gave up halfway through. On his feet Deadpool wore a truly disgusting pair of socks (were they supposed to be green or white?) and an even more disgusting pair of blue Crocs. Deadpool had accentuated the look with a somewhat tattered kimono that boasted a dizzyingly colorful print.

 

Peter couldn’t help it, he laughed. It was so ridiculous and funny and perfectly _Wade_.

 

“Hey, if you’re gonna laugh at my phenomenal fashion choices, I can leave. I’m not helping judgey-Spiders, no sir I am not.” Deadpool said sternly, just as he stabbed another Doombot in the face.

 

“I wasn’t making fun of you,” Peter said quickly. “I think you look awesome.”

 

“Uhh, okay.” Deadpool said, but either chose not to say anything else or couldn’t because he was busy attacking more Doombots.

 

“Why aren’t you wearing your suit, though? Just out of curiosity.” Peter asked after taking down a few more bots.

 

“Well, funny story—” Deadpool slashed three Doombots in half at once. “So I was sitting in my place in Midtown watching some TV – can you believe SYFY was having _another_ ‘Buffy’ marathon? – when all of a sudden a freakin’ robot that looked exactly like that douchecanoe Dr. Doom came crashing through my window!” – he shoved his fist through another Doombot’s chest – “Stupid thing was already shut down, but I was still mad about it. Obviously. So I did what any normal person would do and I stuck my head out the window and yelled at Tony Stark to be more careful about where he threw his villains next time.” – Deadpool shot a Doombot in the face – “Stark ignored me, so I jumped out the window to enact some sweet revenge on the robots myself since I was a little bored anyway (Ryley is just the worst love interest on that show, he ruined all of season 4!). And then I heard the terrified shrieks of a Spider in distress and I ran over here and it seemed like you were asking for help so I decided to help and now here I am!” Deadpool finished with a flourish, throwing both katanas and effectively shish-kabobing three Doombots on each one.

 

“You were just… hanging out and watching TV and decided to jump out a window to fight some robots? Without suiting up?” Peter clarified, struggling to keep the laughter out of his voice.

 

“Pretty much.” Deadpool casually pulled his katanas out of the six Doombots.

 

Peter shook his head, partly out of admiration and partly out of astonishment. “You’re one of a kind.”

 

“That’s what I keep saying!” Deadpool exclaimed happily. Without another word to Peter he dashed into the fray surrounding Captain America and yelled, “I salute America’s Ass and I pledge to protect it at all costs! Don’t worry, Cap, little ol’ Wade is here to keep those bots off your bangin’ booty!”

 

“Who invited Wilson?!”

 

“C’mon Steve I’m basically an Avenger now—”

 

“Not you, Sam. I mean who invited the _other_ Wilson?”

 

“ _Deadpool_ ’s here?!”

 

“Great. Natasha, can you take him out? If you take his head off he’ll probably shut up faster and we can get back to taking care of the Doombots.”

 

“Wait!” Peter cried through the comms, watching Deadpool keep a Doombot off Steve’s back. “He’s with me.”

 

“For real?”

  
“Seriously, Webs?!”

 

“Seriously.” Peter said firmly. “He’s here to help.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just feel like the world needs more impulsively gender non-conforming Wade Wilson fighting robots sue me
> 
> (don't actually sue me just leave a comment instead - hope y'all enjoyed this chapter! These boys will FINALLY become friends in the next one ♥)


	4. Motion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> mo·tion /ˈmōSH(ə)n/  
> Noun 1. the action or process of moving or being moved. 2. A gesture. 3. A piece of moving mechanism.

Half an hour later (though it might as well have been half a decade, for how exhausted Peter was), Vision finally arrived and was able to incapacitate Dr. Doom, ending the battle once and for all. The Avengers plus Deadpool gathered in the middle of a demolished street to catch their collective breath.

 

Or, in Deadpool’s case, to _use_ it.

 

“Okay, totally starting to understand why you guys are into this whole hero-ing gig,” Deadpool rambled, pacing around piles of rubble excitedly. He was waving around his own recently severed arm like it was a talking stick, either ignoring or ignorant of the disgusted look Sam shot him for the action. “That was so cool! Spidey, did you see me throw a chainsaw through that one group of Doombots that stood a little too close together? No idea why there was a rogue chainsaw in the street, but hey, anything goes in New York, right? Or is that Santa Fe? Whatever. Point is, I’m a badass, that was so cool, we totally saved the world! And I got to do it with the freakin’ _Avengers_! Did you see it when Black Widow (BLACK FREAKIN’ WIDOW!) jumped off my back to get to a Doombot standing on some scaffolding? Oh man, I really hope there’s some teenagers around who were filming this whole thing on their Smartphones and putting it on the Internet because all of it is going straight into my spank bank. Do you think the Doombots are gonna come back, Webs? Can you call me if they do? I had so much fun I just wanna—”

 

“Oh my god, does he ever _shut up_?” Tony groaned, sitting tiredly on the curb.

 

“Not usually.” Peter said with a small smile. “Hey, Deadpool – wanna go get some food? These guys probably have this under control by now.” Peter wasn’t sure why he suggested it. Probably to get Deadpool away from the other Avengers. It was definitely possible that Tony would kick Peter off the team for bringing in such an annoying tagalong, even if it wasn’t Peter’s fault.

 

Deadpool somehow managed to look even more excited. “Spidey, are you asking me to _hang out_ with you after we _saved the world together_?”

 

“Uhh… yeah? I guess so?”

 

Deadpool squealed in excitement and ran at Peter, the severed arm still flopping grotesquely in his other hand like a horrible pool noodle. “Then let’s blow this joint! Pun fully intended.” Deadpool added, glancing approvingly at the destruction around them.

 

“Yeah, thanks for leaving us to clean up the mess, guys.” Natasha said, rolling her eyes as she carefully picked her way over a twisted lump of metal that may have been a car at some point.

 

“Isn’t that what SHIELD is for?” Peter quipped, his fingers already hovering over his webshooters, ready to swing away. “And besides, I’m the only one here who has a _real_ job. The least you guys can do is clean up after I help out.”

 

Steve looked like he had something to say to that, but for some reason Natasha gave him a meaningful look and Steve closed his mouth with a slight nod. Peter didn’t bother to figure out what was going on there – Steve and Natasha had their own weird relationship. Instead, Peter turned his attention back to Deadpool.

 

“Ready?” he asked. Deadpool nodded enthusiastically. “Cool. I’ll meet you at Lucia’s in 20 minutes. It’s a pizza place in Queens, near Flushing.”

 

Deadpool’s face fell behind his mask. “You don’t want to go there together? Was kinda hoping I could swing along with you…”

 

With a skeptical look, Peter bit back a scoff. “Sorry, Deadpool. We’re not quite there yet. Also, I thought you might want to go home and shower and change. And maybe like… put that arm somewhere.”

 

Deadpool looked down at the severed arm sheepishly. “Oh yeah. Good call.”

 

“See you there.” Peter said, then webbed away without a glance back.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Twenty-seven minutes later (Peter was always late, no matter how easy it was to get around the city when you could practically fly), Peter opened the door to Lucia’s Pizza and was immediately assaulted by the smell of garlic, tomatoes, and slightly charred brick-oven crusts. He pulled his hoodie tighter around his body, self-conscious even though he was still wearing his full suit, and glanced around to find Deadpool.

 

Peter scanned the tiny space hopefully, but the mercenary wasn’t there yet. So Peter took a seat on a nearby stool and waited. Luckily, he didn’t have to wait long – Deadpool sauntered in a few minutes later, and Peter was surprised to see that he was still wearing the same ridiculous outfit as before. The severed arm was thankfully absent, and it seemed Deadpool’s attached arm had already grown back. Thank God for small mercies.

 

“PETEY PIE!” Deadpool boomed, bounding over to where Peter was sitting. A few other customers glanced up from their slices, probably equally surprised by the loud voice and by Deadpool’s appearance. Deadpool jumped onto the seat next to Peter with a giant grin on his face.

 

“Dude, I’m right here – you don’t need to yell.” Peter hissed.

 

“Sorry, I’m just glad you showed! I kinda expected you to stand me up, tbh.”

 

Peter ignored the quick swoop of guilt that punched him in the gut when Deadpool said that and instead replied, “Did you just say ‘tbh’ out loud?”

 

“Yep.” Deadpool grinned again and looked around the room. His voice dipped suddenly into a mockingly flirtatious tone. “So, come here often?”

 

“I guess so, yeah.”

 

For some reason that made Deadpool laugh, and like everything Deadpool did it was a bit over the top, the echoes of the mercenary’s barking laughter bouncing obnoxiously around the shop. Peter fidgeted uncomfortably with a loose seam in his suit. Deadpool was just so… much.

 

“So I guess we should get some pizza, right? You don’t have to, but I’m starving.” said Peter, rising from his stool and approaching the counter to see what slices were available. Deadpool nodded and followed close behind, peering eagerly into the kitchen.

 

“Do you think they’ve got a pineapple and olive one?” Deadpool asked.

 

“Uh, sorry, a _what_?”

 

“Pineapple and olive. It’s my favorite. The perfect combo of sweetness and savory-ness! You’re telling me you’ve never had it? Because I gotta tell ya, baby boy, it is… chef’s kiss!” Deadpool then demonstrated a chef’s kiss, still looking eagerly around the employees to peer into the kitchen.

 

Peter didn’t bother fighting back his laughter. Not because Deadpool’s pizza choice was so wild (that wildly incorrect opinion would be revisited in all seriousness on another day), but because Wade was just so incredibly excited about his pizza toppings that he expressed it by verbalizing a “chef’s kiss.”

 

“They probably don’t have a slice of that back there – sorry, man.” Peter said, feeling the tiniest bit like he may have been sincerely sorry.

 

“Eh, it happens. Guess I gotta do a better job of educating the world about the greatest pizza toppings!”

 

Peter couldn’t suppress his disgust anymore. “No. Incorrect. Everyone knows the best pizza topping is good old-fashioned pepperoni, extra garlic.”

 

As a response, Deadpool clutched his heart dramatically and pretended to fall down, grabbing the counter at the last minute to save himself. “Do mine ears deceive me?! Petey-Pie, here I thought you were all perfect and such, and then you say such slanderous things! In front of the _pies_ , nonetheless!”

 

Peter shrugged. “I just have better taste than you, that’s okay.”

 

“Oh, so it’s a challenge now, eh?” The eyes on Deadpool’s mask widened as if he were raising his eyebrows. “Fine. Challenge accepted. Excuse me, sir!” Wade waved down the nearest employee. “Yes, hello, can I get a large pizza, half pineapple and olive, half pepperoni? Extra garlic, please.”

 

“Um, what are you doing?” Peter demanded, pulling Wade away from the counter as the employee started writing things down.

 

“We need to settle this. You try mine, I’ll try yours, we’ll see who’s actually right.”

 

“I’m not putting that pineapple/olive monstrosity in my mouth.”

 

“Fine. More for me, then!”

 

Peter shifted uncomfortably. Getting a slice of pizza with Deadpool was one thing, but sharing a pie with the mercenary felt like quite another. Especially if Wade was buying. Who knew where that money came from? “You don’t have to buy me any, though.” Peter said firmly.

 

“Pish posh,” said Wade. “I’ve got more money than I know what to do with already. And I did come by some of it honestly, thank you very much.”

 

Shit, Peter _really_ hoped Deadpool couldn’t read minds.

 

Twenty minutes later, the two of them were sitting next to each other on a bench outside, the pizza box placed somewhat precariously between them. True to his word, Peter had flat-out refused to touch the pineapple/olive slices, but Wade did try a bite of the pepperoni (and then dramatically spat the offending mouthful at a pigeon).

 

“Hey,” Peter said abruptly, interrupting Wade’s rant about some app called TikTok. Deadpool stopped talking immediately and fixed Peter with his full attention, which was slightly overwhelming and almost stopped Peter from saying what he had planned to say. Almost. “Can I ask you a question?”

 

“Another one?”

 

“Funny. Never heard that joke before.” Peter rolled his eyes, then took a deep breath before he continued. “Why do you like me so much? I’ve always been mean to you and we almost never interact, so why are you so… into me?”

 

“Oh, that’s easy, Petey,” Deadpool said nonchalantly. Peter prepared himself for a nonsensical answer and wondered why he even bothered asking.

 

Surprisingly, Wade’s tone was sincere as he launched into his reply. “You call me out on my shit. Sometimes in a nice way, sometimes not-so-nice. When I’m being irrational (which happens a lot, I know) or my moral compass malfunctions (which happens a bit less now), you never hesitate to tell me what you think. Other people do – they tell me what they think I wanna hear because they’re stupid or self-interested or scared – but never you. Even when I don’t agree with what you’re saying, you still tell me, because you know I’m trying to be better and you know it’s okay when I make mistakes. You don’t expect me to be perfect all the time, you know I do stupid shit for the wrong reasons and weird shit for no reason, but that’s just who I am. You see that, and you don’t judge me for it. Or worse, pity me for the fucked up shit that made me this way. It may not seem like much, but this stuff means the world to someone like me, someone who’s never had it before.”

 

“Uhh,” Peter had no idea what to say to that. So he shoved another bite of pizza in his mouth. Surprisingly, Wade stayed silent and waited for Peter to finish chewing, which forced Peter to find something to say. “Okay, honestly I totally expected you to just say, ‘because you’re my hero and you make me laugh and I like your butt.’”

 

Deadpool grinned. “Well, all that stuff is true too, obviously.”

 

Peter took another bite of pizza, still at a loss for words. Luckily, Wade decided to launch back into his TikTok rant and Peter was saved from commenting again.

 

That didn’t save him from having to think about it, though. For the next _four days in a row_.


	5. Friction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> fric·tion /ˈfrikSH(ə)n/
> 
> Noun. 1. The resistance that one surface or object encounters when moving over another. 2. Conflict or animosity caused by a clash of wills, temperaments, or opinions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry I wasn't able to update yesterday as usual - I was traveling and just didn't have time. hope you guys enjoy the chapter! a bit of angst to get us going before the REAL angst begins in chapters 6 and 7 !!

Over the next few months, Peter and Deadpool fell into a quasi-routine. Deadpool quickly discovered that the key to Peter’s attention was food, and frequently spent his time waiting on rooftops with greasy bags from various takeout places, apparently waiting for Peter to find him. Peter never asked how long Deadpool sat on rooftops waiting. Instead, Peter swung in, said hello, sat beside Wade with both their legs dangling over the side of the building, and listened to the mercenary talk while shoving his face with tacos or fried rice or curry. When they finished eating, they said their goodbyes and parted ways.

 

And so on.

 

Slowly, incredibly slowly, Peter found that he wasn’t just sitting and listening to Wade talk, but contributing to the dialogue himself. Wade was funny, and he had very strong opinions about pop culture and food and specific nonsensical things, which naturally led Peter to respond with his own strong opinions. Soon even Peter had to admit it was less “Peter stuffing his face while Wade talked” and more “Peter and Wade having conversations” nowadays.

 

“All I’m saying is that those things people wear on their feet when they go running? Yeah, they’re definitely called _runners_ , end of discussion.” Wade was saying, between shoving doughnuts in his face.

 

Peter dramatically pretended to vomit. “Sorry,” he said afterwards, fighting back a grin. “that opinion was just so stupid it made me sick for a minute there. Those shoes are called sneakers and you know it.”

 

“GASP!” Wade cried, clutching a hand to his chest in mock horror. “That was so mean.”

 

Peter shrugged and selected another doughnut from the box.

 

“Besides,” Deadpool continued. “are you using them for sneaking? No. If they were good for sneaking then ninjas like me would use them. You use them for _running_ , so they’re called _runners_.” Deadpool tapped a finger against the side of his head. “Logic.”

 

Scoffing, Peter immediately replied, “By that ‘logic’ we would call shirts ‘nipple-covers’ because that’s their primary function. But do we do that? Nope, because that would be stupid.” Noticing that Deadpool was grinning at him, Peter paused and pulled out his phone. “Give me a minute and I’ll look up the history of the word ‘sneakers’ so I can prove you wrong.”

 

Wade, if anything, smiled more broadly. “God, you are _such_ a Ravenclaw.”

 

“What?” Peter asked absent-mindedly, still staring at his phone.

 

“Nothing.” Wade replied, lounging back on the roof with a contented sigh. A few minutes of comfortable silence passed. Deadpool continued watching the city below, babbling about the best _sneaker_ brands, while Peter furiously researched on his phone and only half-listened.

 

“HA!” Peter cried out suddenly, interrupting Wade’s rant. Peter shoved his phone in Wade’s face in triumph. “Read it and weep. They’re called sneakers because you _can_ sneak up on someone if you want to – the rubber soles make them way quieter than hard-soled shoes that were the only other option in the early 20th century.”

 

“Well, shit.” Wade said, but he didn’t sound even remotely disappointed. “All right, you win. My Canadian ass will probably never call them sneakers, though. Guess that means this is the end of the road for us.” Without another word, Deadpool rolled off the roof and plummeted toward the sidewalk far below.

 

“WADE!”

 

Peter couldn’t help it, he screamed and leapt to his feet, but it was too late for Peter to even fire off a single web to stop the mercenary – Wade plunged like a rock and landed on the concrete with a sickening crunch.

 

“Oh my god, oh my god—” Peter tried desperately not to panic as he swung off the building, landing smoothly beside Deadpool’s inert form. Attempting to ignore the horrific way Wade’s legs were bent, Peter knelt beside him and began looking for a pulse. “Oh fuck, please don’t be dead—”

 

“I couldn’t kill me if I tried, Webs,” Wade said suddenly, pulling Peter’s hand away from his neck. Peter leaped backwards in shock and alarm. “but it’s cool to know you care.”

 

“What the—” Regaining more of his brain functions, Peter did the only thing that made sense at the time: he punched Deadpool in the face. Hard.

 

“OW!” Deadpool screamed, clutching his nose. “Thanks a lot, Petey, now I’ve got a broken nose _and_ two broken legs. Rude.”

 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

 

“Ooh, language baby boy – Cap wouldn’t be happy if he heard—”

 

“Shut up!” Peter yelled. Deadpool, shockingly, did shut up. “Why did you do that?!”

 

“Comedic effect.”

 

Peter punched him again.

 

“Ow! Quit it!”

 

“That was STUPID.” Peter snarled. “You actually thought it would be funny to pretend to kill yourself by falling off a building?”

 

“Uh… yeah?”

 

Peter stood and backed away, glaring down at Deadpool. “I’m—I can’t. I’ve gotta go.”

 

Deadpool legitimately _whined_. “What? No, Petey – I’m sorry, I won’t do it again, pinky swear. I just thought it would be funny!”

 

“Well it wasn’t.” Peter called over his shoulder, continuing to walk away.

 

“Where are you going?”

 

“Home.”

 

“You’re just gonna leave me here?!”

 

“You brought this on yourself, Wade.” Peter spat. “See you around.”

 

“Peter, no – WAIT!”

 

Peter was swinging away before he heard another word.

 

* * *

 

Unfortunately, Peter didn’t actually want to go anywhere. Home sounded too quiet, and the streets were calm. Peter wanted action, wanted some noise to drown out whatever was going on in his head. Because truthfully he was terrified.

 

Seething, raging mad, of course. But also terrified. Mostly because he didn’t know _why_ he was so angry. Yeah, it had been a really dumb joke and it definitely hadn’t been funny, but no one had actually gotten hurt, had they? Deadpool would heal in a few hours and be back to normal, nothing permanent about it. And he had fallen into a deserted alley in the middle of the night, so Peter couldn’t even justify his anger by saying someone could have been traumatized by seeing what had happened.

 

Peter settled on a rooftop with a long-suffering sigh. He rubbed a hand over his face and sat down to think. He was so deep in thought that he barely noticed when the city started waking up around him a few hours later. Sunlight reached him like a slap in the face, and Peter blinked in surprise. Despite the hours he had spent doing literally nothing else, Peter still hadn’t reached any kind of conclusion about why he was so angry at Wade. With an exhausted groan, Peter stood and resigned himself to starting his day. He needed to be at the Bugle in less than an hour, so it was time to head home. Pausing briefly to stretch his stiff muscles, Peter swung off into the sunrise toward his apartment.

 

Peter was barely paying attention as he landed gently on the roof of his building, and he just barely managed to avoid stepping on a box that had somehow found its way to the edge of the rooftop. Leaping around it, Peter just happened to glance down at the box and struggled to stifle a gasp of surprise.

 

It was a pizza, and there was a note attached to it:

 

“Pepperoni, extra garlic. Sorry about earlier. -WWW”


	6. Homeostasis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ho·me·o·sta·sis /ˌhōmēəˈstāsəs/
> 
> Noun 1. the tendency toward a relatively stable equilibrium between interdependent elements, especially as maintained by physiological processes.

“All right, we have a plan. Six stones, three teams, one shot.”

 

Peter looked at the group assembled in front of the heist machine and hoped no one else was as nervous as he was. Certainly no one looked it. Even Deadpool was nonchalantly swinging a katana like it was any other day at work, not a briefing about them all jumping through time and space to find some magical all-powerful rocks that would determine the fate of the universe. As though reading Peter’s mind, Tony glared at Deadpool and said, “And what in the fresh hell is this maniac doing here?”

 

“He just showed up,” Peter said apologetically. “He does that now.”

 

“Cool,” Tony said sarcastically. “Like a puppy. Alright, well I guess that means you guys are paired up, then – unless anyone else thinks they can endure Wilson for more than ten minutes? Anyone?”

 

“Your loss, Tin Man,” quipped Deadpool, still swinging his katana. “I’m awesome.”

 

Tony scoffed, but before he could say another word Steve called everyone to pay attention.

 

“Five years ago we lost.” Steve said, as they all huddled together in the time heist machine thing. “We lost friends, we lost family, we lost a part of ourselves. Today we have a chance to take it all back. You know your teams, you know your missions. Get the stones, get them back. One round trip each, no mistakes, no do-overs. Most of us are going somewhere we know, that doesn’t mean we should know what to expect. Be careful. Look out for each other. This is the fight of our lives, and we’re gonna win. Whatever it takes. Good luck.”

 

“Alright, you heard the man – stroke those keys, Jolly Green!”

 

In a whirl of color and light and pressure, the lab disappeared.

 

* * *

 

 

“Welcome, Peter, son of Mary. Welcome, Wade, son of Hailey.”

 

“What the—” Peter muttered, and before he could even fully process what he was seeing Wade had shoved him out of the way, both katanas drawn and pointed at a shadowy figure ahead. Wrapped in the darkness of a tattered cloak, the figure seemed to glide forward effortlessly, and Peter struggled to make out the features of its face.

 

“Who are you?” Peter asked, slowly walking forward to stand beside Deadpool.

 

“Consider me a guide. To you, and to all who seek the Soul Stone.”

 

“Well that’s helpful,” Wade said, sheathing his katanas almost jovially. “Lead on, bro!”

 

The figure stepped into the light, and Peter gasped as he took in the sight of the skinless red skull that seemed to be floating in the darkness before him. Before he could say anything, however, the man (demon ghost monster?) glided off toward the peak of the mountain. Wordlessly, Deadpool and Peter looked at each other and began to climb.

 

Ten minutes later, slipping and sliding and swearing over the rocky ice, they finally made it to the top. Peter didn’t take the time to admire the view, because as soon as they reached the peak, the red-faced figure stopped at the edge of an enormous cliff and began speaking again.

 

“What you seek lies in front of you, as does what you fear. For one of you to take the stone, you must lose that which you love. An everlasting exchange. A soul for a soul.”

 

It happened so fast Peter’s brain almost didn’t even register the motion. Deadpool took off at a dead sprint and (apparently without even thinking about it) leapt off the cliff in a sharp swan dive. He didn’t look back once.

 

“NO!” Peter screamed, running forward before he had even fully processed what was happening. “WADE!”

 

Somewhere in his chest, Peter’s heart was pumping way too slowly. His blood didn’t seem to move at all, but everything else in the world was moving too fast. He ran to the edge of the cliff and dropped to his knees, desperately tugging his hands through his hair (when did he take off his mask?). Peter gulped in icy air and forced himself to look down.

 

“Don’t be dead, don’t be dead, please don’t be dead—"

 

Flashes of déjà vu hit him like punches – Wade, killing four guys in an alley after they shot at Peter, who begged for them to still be alive – Wade, showing up to fight Doombots in a crop top and a kimono, not pausing to think before jumping into danger – and most recently, Wade jumping off a building because he thought it would be a funny joke.

 

Wade lay in a crumpled heap at the bottom of the cliff, lifeless. Peter wouldn’t – couldn’t – glance down for more than a second to see the details. Instead he threw himself backwards, away from the horrific scene below, and fell back in a tangle of shaking limbs. Rolling over onto his chest, Peter pushed himself to his knees ( _he needed to go, he had to get the Soul Stone, or none of this would be worth it, Wade would be dead for nothing_ ), only for his stomach to lurch violently in protest. Without warning, vomit splattered sickeningly onto the slabs of rock that kept Peter from floating away.

 

“Wade…” Peter muttered, his voice so quiet it was swallowed by the gusting wind around him. “Wade, you… you _stupid_ big lumbering _idiot_!” Peter punched a flat rock below him and a bolt of pain ran up his arm. He sank to his knees, wiping away the vomit, snot, and tears that were accumulating on his face along with sweat.

 

Peter knelt there for what felt like a decade but was probably only ten seconds. He could feel his anger ebbing away, being pulled through him and ejected like wire through the end of a casing. Breathing heavily, Peter pressed a palm to his forehead and slammed his eyes shut, muttering to himself.

 

“…stupid, impulsive, oaf… we don’t know if it was a literal sacrifice, we could have sat down and talked this over, figured it out… unless…” Peter jumped to his feet and pulled his mask back on, looking desperately around to see if that red dude in the cloak was anywhere. Peter was on another planet, and clearly there was some weird magical stuff going on in the universe, so maybe, just maybe…

 

“HEY! Red guy!” Peter shouted into empty space. “Get back here! I got some questions about the permanence of this suicide riddle situation.”

 

“I assure you it’s quite permanent, little arachnid,” a familiar voice behind Peter said softly. Peter turned sharply to face the cliff and then took an immediate involuntary step back.

 

“What—” Peter struggled to regain his composure as he stood face-to-chest with Thanos himself. “Hey! Purple guy!” Even Peter knew his voice sounded forced and shaky.

 

“You can drop the spirited jokester act, little arachnid,” murmured Thanos. “I know you’re scared. But you don’t have to be afraid, I’m not here to hurt you. I came to ensure the Soul Stone will remain safely here, where I know I can find it when the time comes.”

 

“Well, I got some bad news for you, buddy,” Peter said, injecting as much laughter into his voice as he could. Deflecting with humor was all he had, dammit. “We’ve already got the Stone. Well, I do. As soon as I figure out where it is.”

 

At that, Thanos actually smiled. It wasn’t a good look on him. Thanos took a few steps forward, now within arm’s reach of Peter, and every muscle in Peter’s body screamed at him to move back. Peter resisted, standing his ground and fighting to grin back at the Titan despite his fear and rage.

 

“Poor child,” said Thanos softly. “You know nothing of this world. Did you think that blabbering idiot coated in red would be able to help you? Him? The one who kills people for money and makes a mockery of the universe as he does it?”

 

All the blood seemed to freeze in Peter’s veins. “But— Wade sacrificed— he loves—”

 

Thanos laughed, a deep rumble that seemed to shake the air around them. “That wretched clown? He couldn’t love anyone. Certain… entities have somehow accidentally fallen in love with _him_ , but Wade Wilson could never love Her back. I made sure of that.”

 

“What the hell are you even talking about?” Peter felt the anger that had been simmering in his stomach rise to a boil in his chest.

 

“You don’t know?” Thanos said, sounding for a moment genuinely surprised. “Interesting. That explains this little stunt, I suppose. Years ago, when Wilson was nothing more than a lowly agent of Weapon X, he became so annoying to the program they decided to eliminate him once and for all. They killed him, melted him into a puddle of goo and guts and moved on with their lives.”

 

“Is this villain monologue going anywhere or are you just trying to annoy me?” Peter interjected, tapping his foot for added effect. “Because it’s working.”

 

“Silence, you insipid little insect,” Thanos snarled. Peter began to bite back that spiders weren’t insects, but found that he actually wanted to hear where the Titan was going with all this, so he kept his mouth shut. Thanos continued almost immediately.

 

“After Weapon X killed Wilson, he moved on to the afterlife like any of you humans would,” Thanos said. A note of bitter anger that didn’t seem to be directed at Peter was barely detectable in his voice. “Except when he got there, he was greeted by Death Herself. Personally.” Thanos paused, and a line on his giant purple forehead throbbed menacingly. “She was there, in a… revealing dress, beckoning him to Her bed like he was somehow worthy of Her attention.”

 

“Hold up,” Peter interrupted again. His brain was working furiously to keep up with what was happening here. “Are you saying that Death is an actual person? Like, with a body and everything? And she’s… sexy?!”

 

“SILENCE!” Thanos screamed, balling his fists and looming menacingly over Peter. “You are not worthy, mortal, to speak of Her, let alone demean her with your crass words.”

 

“So that’s a yes?”

 

Thanos sighed and casually balled his hand into a fist. At the same time, Peter felt his throat constrict, like someone was squeezing it with a giant hand. Peter choked, wondering if this was how he would die. Instead, frozen air flooded back into his lungs after a minute and he gasped gratefully, biting back his comment about how he never expected to experience a real-life force choke from an actual villain.

 

“Are you done speaking now?” Thanos growled. Peter stayed silent. “Good. I can see now why you and Wilson spend time together. You are both contemptable fools who do not know when to remain quiet.” Thanos sighed, then looked out over the cliff. “As I was saying, Death was strangely… infatuated with Wilson. It is something I still do not understand. But I know him to be undeserving of Her attention, and so I have taken precautions to keep them apart. Forever.”

 

“You--?” Peter couldn’t help himself. He couldn’t stay silent. He needed to know what Thanos was saying. Luckily, the Titan answered Peter’s unasked question almost immediately.

 

“I cursed Wilson. To stay away from my beloved Death forever. He cannot die, because he is not good enough to know Her sweet embrace.” Thanos spat.

 

“Then where—?”

 

Again, Thanos answered the question almost immediately, this time with a laugh. “The fool is regenerating at the bottom of this cliff as we speak. Here, I’ll even help move things along.” With a large sweeping motion, Thanos seemed to pull something from the depths of nothingness, and Wade himself fell out of thin air, collapsing on the rock with a gigantic gasp.

 

“Sweet Small Business Saturday, that is _not_ recommended,” Wade choked out, struggling to his knees. “It’s weird, jumping off a cliff seems like a good way to go, and it’s definitely a suicide cliché (do those even exist?), but I gotta tell you guys I give the trip back a solid _zero_ stars.”

 

“Shut up!” both Thanos and Peter yelled at the same time.

 

“Whoa, sensing a bit of hostility here,” Wade said, still trying and failing to get to his feet. “Can you guys at least wait until my spine is done healing before you start getting pissy?”

 

“As soon as your spine heals I’m gonna punch you in the face, Wade.” Peter hissed, walking over and helping the mercenary into a seated position against a rock.

 

“Kinky,” said Wade, waggling his eyebrows at Peter. “But – and this is just a suggestion, totally cool either way – maybe let’s wait on the sexytimes until Angry Barney over there is gone, eh?”

 

“Wade, this isn’t a joke—”

 

Rumbling, mocking laughter interrupted Peter, and both he and Wade looked up at Thanos with surprise.

 

“Eggplant Emoji, are you actually laughing at one of my jokes?!” Wade squealed excitedly. “The world has truly come to an end!”

 

“Fools,” Thanos replied, turning away from them and walking toward the path down the mountain. “I came to ensure the Soul Stone would remain untouched. Now I see I had nothing to worry about, for the Avengers, in their infinite stupidity, sent their most pathetic to do the job – a jester who cannot die, and a child who would not care if he did.” Thanos chuckled to himself as he continued to walk away. “I take my leave knowing the Stone is safe. Until we meet again, mortals.” Without another word, the Titan disappeared.

 

“Whew, okay, that’s enough excitement for one day, I think,” said Wade, letting his head fall back against the rock in apparent exhaustion. “Raise your hand if you wanna go back to the Avengers tower and eat burritos and never deal with any of this ever again. All in favor say ‘aye would really like to do that Mr. Pool, good plan.’”

 

“Wade,” said Peter gently, sitting beside the mercenary and leaning his back against the rock too. Peter smiled slightly to himself. “You’re mixing up your metaphors.”

 

“Am I? Well butternut squash me a river—”

 

“Wade.”

 

“Uhh… yeah Petey?”

 

“You’re an idiot.”

 

Wade’s face broke into a crooked grin beneath his mask. “Yeah, I know.”

 

They both sat there in silence for about ten seconds. Wade was breathing heavily beside Peter, as though he were struggling up a mountain instead of sitting calmly on the ground. Peter tried to use the silence to think, but of course Wade would never let them sit in silence for long.

 

“So yeah, sorry I forgot about that whole ‘cursed to never die’ situation – I really thought that would cancel out if I wasn’t on Earth, for some reason. Like, these Stone things have got to be more powerful than Fig-Face’s curse, right? Guess not. But I guess it doesn’t matter because for me to be sacrificed you’d have to love me, eh? I really didn’t think this through at all. Ah well, lesson learned, am I right? Anyway, we should go back to the Mickey Mouse Clubhouse and tell the gang the Soul Stone has a biiiiiiit of a catch and that maybe Phil should be the one to come back here and chuck his Captain America trading cards down the mountain or something—”

 

“No.” said Peter softly.

 

“Huh?”

 

“We can’t go back without the Stone,” Peter hoped his voice sounded steadier than he felt. “You heard Cap – one trip each. We can’t come back.”

 

“Alright, then, fudge the glowy rock. We’ll find another way to beat this guy.”

 

“We can’t,” Peter’s voice was so gentle and calm, he could tell it was making Wade feel uneasy. Wade was talking too fast, making too many references, using a tone that was too cheerful. He was nervous. And Peter couldn’t blame him. “This is the plan we agreed on. This is how we beat Thanos. Dr. Strange said it was the only way.”

 

Wade stretched his back to make sure it was fully healed, wincing slightly as he did. Peter could tell Wade was fighting to seem casual and unbothered. “Well then Professor Weirdo is wrong. Plain and simple. Because we already know I can’t die, and obviously I love you but I’m not sacrificing that sweet ass, so it’s pointless. Neither one of us can get the Soul Stone, and we’re the only two people here. Unless you want me to suddenly declare my love for Tomato-Head back there and chuck him over the edge…?”

 

“Wade…” Peter’s voice was barely above a whisper now.

 

“Why are you doing that?” Wade’s tone was sharp and bitter now. It rose in pitch, becoming desperate with disbelief. “Why are you talking so—so quiet like that? It’s weird, Pete, and it’s honestly starting to freak me out a bit—”

 

“Wade.”

 

“STOP!” Wade cried, struggling to his feet at last to put some distance between them. “Stop saying my name like that!”

 

He knew. Peter knew, had finally realized it after all this time, and so did Wade. They were just devastatingly too late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoop, there it is - the angst! much more to come in the last chapter so buckle up, batman ♥
> 
> also - for anyone who's interested in reading the comic where thanos curses deadpool to never die, check out deadpool: funeral for a freak (in deadpool ultimate collection vol. 1, 2001-2002 by frank tieri & buddy scalera), specifically issue #64!
> 
> as always, thanks for reading and comments are always very much appreciated!! final chapter next week and hooooo boy we are gettin; angsty.


	7. Gravity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> grav·i·ty /ˈɡravədē/
> 
> Noun.1. PHYSICS the force that attracts a body toward the center of the earth, or toward any other physical body having mass. 2. Extreme or alarming importance; seriousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> final chapter - break out the tissues, I hope y'all are in the mood for angst!
> 
> first things first: added warning for MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH. sorry I didn't add it earlier - just wanted to make sure I knew where this was going before I added the tag. 
> 
> okay.... without further ado: *jazz hands*

Peter stood up. He carefully put himself between Wade and the cliff, fighting to maintain his calm demeanor on the outside as insides rioted. His heart was beating so hard he could almost feel his chest moving with it, and his brain whirred and sparked like an overheating engine. Yet Peter relaxed his face, kept his shoulders loose, placed his feet steadfastly apart. In front of him, Wade paced and shook, a perfect picture of what was going on inside Peter’s motionless exterior.

 

“It’s okay, Wade,” Peter said softly. “It’s gonna be okay.”

 

Wade laughed. It was unlike any laugh Peter had ever heard come from Wade’s throat before – normally his laughter bubbled like a free-flowing river, infectious and carefree – this laugh blazed with anger, uncontrolled and full of heat. “It’s not, though. It’s not.” Wade’s voice was soft too, now. An involuntary chill ran down Peter’s spine.

 

“I—I’m really sorry,” Peter said, his composure slipping just a little. He felt his knees quake slightly and fought to control himself. “I didn’t know, I didn’t think it was – I’m sorry.”

 

Wade stepped forward. Something in his shoulders, in the set of his jaw, had changed – Peter felt like he was being stalked by a wolf, rather than approached by a man. “Say it,” he growled. “If this is real, I need to hear it. Out loud.”

 

“I don’t think that’s a good—”

 

“Say it!”

 

Peter inhaled sharply. Wade’s anger was downright terrifying. And honestly (because if Peter couldn’t be honest now, of all times, then when could he be?), that was one of the things Peter liked most about Wade – not that Wade was angry or terrifying, but that Wade didn’t feel the need to censor himself. For anybody. Not even for Peter, who he had been trying to… impress for the past year. Wade was always Wade, warts and all. Wade was reckless and goofy and occasionally murderous – and all of it was genuine.

 

And intense. Wade lived in big, loud, over-the-top actions. He felt deeply and cared fiercely, sometimes about things that didn’t matter that much, but all of it mattered to Wade. He didn’t waste a single moment with something as useless as restraint, because in Wade’s mind there was no point in making life more boring. As a result, nothing that Wade chose to have in his life was boring – and that included Peter. Every moment they were together, Wade was making the most of it. With jokes and food, stories and stunts – Wade was there, 100%. When Peter was talking, or ranting, or rambling, Wade listened, 100%.

 

 

 Wade’s life was full, and he focused completely on what Wade chose to spend his time on. Which meant he had always viewed Peter as a full person worthy of making his own decisions, mistakes, and victories – not, as other people sometimes tended to do, as a young hero still growing into his role as a whole person. Wade didn’t underestimate Peter, he knew Peter was a whole person already, and that’s how he treated Peter. Which meant that even though Wade had bad days and made mistakes and did some really messed-up stuff sometimes, Wade was always gentle when he needed to be: when a friend was in need, or with children and animals, or when he was learning what was and wasn’t okay and owed Peter an apology.

 

All of this – genuine, fiercely passionate, energetic, fallible, ultimately gentle – made Wade, Wade. And Peter—

 

“I can’t do it,” Peter’s voice broke. “I can’t, Wade, I’m sorry—”

 

Wade took another step forward. “Can’t what?” His tone was still low, menacing. But Peter (perhaps projecting?) thought he heard a note of hope in it. Peter wasn’t cruel – he needed to eliminate the false hope.

 

“I can’t say it. If I say it, I won’t be able to—"

 

In that moment, Wade pounced. Peter hadn’t exactly been expecting it, but his spidey sense told him to move. Peter ignored it.

 

Wade tackled him to the ground, both of them crashing unceremoniously onto the rocks with a sickening crunch. Peter wheezed as the breath was knocked out of him, forced from his lungs by 200 pounds of mercenary muscle. He let his head drop backwards in defeat, gulping in air as he fought the tears prickling the corners of his eyes.

 

“You know this won’t stop me,” Peter choked, refusing to look at Wade and focusing intensely on the dark sky above. “Super strength, remember?”

 

“Fine,” Wade spat. He was still furious. “If you want to do it so bad, throw me off.”

 

Peter still couldn’t look at him, couldn’t face the hope that was flickering steadfastly on Wade’s features, a stubborn flame that Peter would eventually have to snuff. Wade, as always, genuinely thought Wade was right – that Peter didn’t truly care about him, or that Peter wouldn’t actually hurt him.

 

But Wade was wrong, and it broke Peter’s heart – because Peter _did_ care.

 

And he _would_ hurt Wade.

 

Setting his jaw resolutely, Peter grabbed Wade’s shoulders and flipped them both, so smoothly and effortlessly it was almost carefree. Peter landed on top of Wade and felt a horrible sinking feeling in his stomach as Wade’s mask reflected the betrayal. Wade struggled against Peter, but Peter was right again – super strength.

 

Wade thrashed beneath Peter, attempting to kick and hit and even bite to gain the upper hand. Wade’s fighting style – normally graceful and effortless – became sloppy and labored as he became more desperate. With a tsunami of guilt washing over him, Peter used one hand to pin Wade’s wrists to the ground and kept the other firmly pressed to Wade’s throat. A maddening thought pierced Peter’s mind: that Wade wasn’t joking about how kinky this was, or even talking at all. This was so much worse than Peter had imagined, knowing that Wade was angry and scared and hurt even beyond his typical deflection methods.

 

“Wade,” said Peter gently. “I—”

 

“Stop—saying—my—name—like—THAT!” Wade screamed. Something heavy seemed to have settled in the back of Wade’s throat, distorting his voice slightly – Peter almost let go in shock as he realized it was tears. Wade was crying.

 

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I have to—” Peter practically chanted. He didn’t know what else to say, what else to do. “It’s me or half the universe, Wade. You know what I have to choose.”

 

“It is NOT your choice to make!” Wade gasped, struggling harder against Peter’s hands. “It’s mine! I’m the one who loves you, I’m the one who has to choose to throw you over the edge to get the glowy rock, and I am choosing not to do that. I can’t do that. I won’t.” Wade paused and took a deep breath. “YA HEAR THAT, UNIVERSE? I DO NOT CONSENT TO THIS SACRIFICE SITUATION!”

 

“Wade, I can just knock you out and jump,” Peter murmured. “You don’t—you can’t actually stop me.”

 

Pure terror, overpowering and freezing and final, seemed to shoot through Wade’s veins like an electric shock as he realized the truth in Peter’s words. “Don’t.” Wade whispered. “Don’t you fucking dare.”

 

“I won’t unless I have to.”

 

“Pete…” Now Peter understood. The softness, the desperation in Wade’s voice when he said Peter’s name like that… it was far worse than screaming. “Please.”

 

“I’m—I just—” Peter didn’t know what to say. He sobbed dryly, tilting his head back to try and keep the tears in his head where they belonged. Stupid. “This isn’t easy for me either, I swear.”

 

“Petey, please, please—” Wade begged. The words stabbed Peter, causing him to physically wince. “I can’t— if you die, and it’s my fault—”

 

“—it’s not your fault, none of this is your fault—”

 

“I’m not good enough, I’m not strong like you, Pete, please – I won’t be able to—to handle it—”

 

“You are good enough.” Peter said, a fierce firmness returning to his voice once more. “And you can handle it because you have to.”

 

“No.” Wade grunted, fighting Peter’s grip again. “No. There’s gotta be something we can do. Some kind of trick, or something. Bring the red dude back, we can see if—”

 

“Stop.” Peter said sharply. Wade went silent. Not a good sign. “There’s no way out of this, and we both know it. I’m the only one here who can die, so it’s lucky you love me, I guess. I’m—genuinely sorry about my—my feelings, though.”

 

Peter swallowed thickly and removed his hand from Wade’s throat. He tugged at the bottom of his mask, attempting to pull it off with one hand still awkwardly above Wade’s head.

 

“What are you doing?”

 

“Taking off my mask,” Peter replied. “Seems a little pointless to be wearing it now.” He finally managed to pull the offending mask over his head and threw it aside. Wade let out an actual moan as if in pain.

 

“You have _got_ to be kidding me,” Wade grumbled. “All this time you’ve had a body that looks like every twinky wet dream fantasy I’ve ever had, and your face looks like _that_? Not fair at all, dude.”

 

Peter smirked, allowing himself to feel just a little better to hear snark return to Wade’s voice. “The two of us are seriously cursed. I owe you about a million of those disgusting pineapple and olive pizzas.” Wade smiled a little at that, but still didn’t say anything. Peter moved to find the seam of Wade’s mask, but Wade struggled to pull his neck away from Peter’s hand.

 

“Whoa now, cowboy, what do ya think you’re doing?” Wade said indignantly.

 

“Well, fair’s fair.” Peter shrugged.

 

“Uhh, no. You don’t get to show me your angel face and in exchange lose your lunch looking at my ugly mug.”

 

“I didn’t eat lunch today,” Peter said, pulling Wade’s mask off in a single smooth motion. Wade was somewhat right – his face was definitely… a lot to take in all at once. But in addition to the grotesque scars constantly healing and re-healing themselves before Peter’s very eyes, Wade had a good face. Strong jaw, Peter had always known that. And a sharp, slightly crooked nose. But the mask had hidden Wade’s best features – his soft mouth, curled around a set of teeth any dentist would be jealous of. And Wade’s dark, expressive eyes – soft and fierce and even now brimming with a glint of manic glee.

 

“Wow.” Peter said breathlessly.

 

Wade turned his face away from Peter as best he could under the circumstances. “Toldja.”

 

“No, dude—” Peter said quickly. “I meant—your eyes are awesome—” Wade grinned, his brilliant teeth flashing happily. “—and you got a really great smile.”

 

“Aw shucks,” Wade giggled. For a moment, Peter could forget where they were and what he was about to do. But the moment couldn’t last forever.

 

“Okay,” Peter sighed. “This is getting harder by the minute. It’s gotta happen, quick.”

 

Peter could physically see the happiness drain from Wade’s face, like the sun was setting and depriving the world of warmth. “No.” Wade protested quietly.

 

“Wade, c’mon, it’s me or—”

 

“—or half the universe, yeah I know,” Wade spat, turning his face away from Peter again. “But lemme ask you this, Pete: what did those lowlifes ever do for you? Or for _me_?”

 

“They don’t have to earn the right to survive, Wade.” Peter said quietly. “It’s just… the right thing to do.”

 

“I don’t care!” Wade burst out. “I. Don’t. Care. Damn the right thing to do – none of this is right, it’s all unfair! Especially to me – I’m the one making a sacrifice here, I’m the one who—who has to keep living when you’re—I can’t die!” Wade was crying again, and Peter had to look away as the mercenary’s face crumpled and his voice cracked. “I can’t end it, no matter how much it sucks and how much I _miss you_ , I have to live with that…forever. And I can’t—do that.”

 

“You can, you have to—”

 

“No I don’t!” Wade sobbed. “I don’t have to! That’s the worst part of all this – you’re not letting me make the choice. It’s supposed to be my _choice_ to sacrifice something for the Stone, and you’re—you’re taking that away. For what? So a few billion people get to continue with their miserable lives? What about MY miserable life?”

 

Peter wiped his eyes on the sleeve of his suit and squeezed Wade’s shoulder in what he hoped was a reassuring way. “You’re right,” he said softly, tears falling freely onto Wade’s chest. “You’re absolutely right. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. None of this is fair, it’s all so— so fucked up. But those people – it’s our job to help them, to protect them. They’re sons and daughters and husbands and wives and best friends and partners— we have the chance to help them, and that’s what we have to do. Because they have people who are waiting for them to come home, people who love them.”

 

Wade choked. “So do you.”

 

Peter laughed wetly, tears completely blurring his vision. “I know,” he mumbled. “that’s what makes this almost impossible. But I’m only one guy. Please don’t make this any harder than it has to be.”

 

 “Fuck you,” snarled Wade. “[Kuso kurae, kisama saitei baka, zurui koshinuke](https://www.sljfaq.org/afaq/insults.html)!”

 

“I don’t know what—” Peter started, bemused. “Never mind. It’s fine. You have every right to be mad at me. I just—I wish I could make this easier. For both of us.”

 

“Don’t do it.” Tears were flowing rapidly down Wade’s scarred cheeks now. “Please please please please please please. D-don’t. Please.”

 

Peter gathered his courage. He looked at the sky and took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, set his jaw. Then he looked back down at Wade. Peter cupped the mercenary’s face with one hand and gently rubbed his cheek with one thumb. Smiling, Peter said quietly, “I can’t believe this is how my life is gonna end.”

 

“Noooo,” Wade groaned. “No no no no no no no no no Peter—”

 

Peter kissed him. He let go of Wade’s wrists and cupped his face with both hands instead. Settling softly onto Wade’s chest, Peter allowed himself to get lost, just once, in Wade. Peter kissed him ferociously, possessively, running his tongue along the inside of Wade’s mouth like he was memorizing the taste. Peter groaned as Wade turned his head to get a better angle, gripping Peter’s hips like they were a lifeline. Several days later, when Peter finally had to admit he needed air, Peter pulled away.

 

Fighting back a final sob, Peter whispered, “I love you, Wade.”

 

Without another word he pushed Wade as hard as he could into the ground, ignoring Wade’s angry and indignant cry of pain as he launched himself off the mercenary and sprinted toward the cliff. Peter couldn’t tell if the thundering in his ears was his heart or Wade’s footsteps behind him as Wade struggled to keep up, to stop Peter.

 

Wade failed. Peter jumped.

 

* * *

 

 

A lifetime later, Wade awoke surrounded by water. He exhaled a strangled cry of agony and looked for Peter’s body, which he assumed would be somewhere nearby, at the bottom of the cliff with him. Instead he looked up and realized the cliff was far away, and so was Peter.

 

Clutched in one hand, mocking Wade with its warm glow, was the Soul Stone.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so are we all crying together now? yes? good. 
> 
> Wade's insult, translated (I hope) from Japanese slang: "eat shit, you rotten idiot, selfish coward" - I have a headcanon that Wade speaks Japanese when he's really angry 
> 
> for anyone looking for something fluffy to read now to make you smile, may I suggest some of my other [spideypool fics](https://archiveofourown.org/works?utf8=%E2%9C%93&work_search%5Bsort_column%5D=revised_at&include_work_search%5Brelationship_ids%5D%5B%5D=312826&work_search%5Bother_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bexcluded_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bcrossover%5D=&work_search%5Bcomplete%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_from%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_to%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_from%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_to%5D=&work_search%5Bquery%5D=&work_search%5Blanguage_id%5D=&commit=Sort+and+Filter&user_id=space_rogue)?
> 
> thank you so much to everyone who read, kudos'd, and commented on this fic - especially those of you who commented on every chapter!! been a while since I wrote multi-chapter (like... 5 years???) so it really keeps me going and makes me want to write more when y'all take the time to do that. thank you!!!!


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